Chapter 45 – The Hollow Sigil
The glow from the altar faded, leaving behind only silence and the burn of unanswered questions. The sigils carved into the obsidian stone still pulsed faintly, two complete—one marked for Liam, the other for Ella—and one still incomplete, hovering like a puzzle with no key.
Ella knelt before the altar, her fingers brushing over the third symbol. It shifted subtly under her touch, reacting not to her magic, but to her intent.
"This… shouldn't be possible," Althaea whispered behind them. "The Blood Contract was always meant to be a finite bond—binding, yes, but static. Unchanging. This is… evolution."
Liam paced nearby, energy churning in his chest. He could feel the contract again—not dormant as before, but coiled, alert, like it was listening.
"Why now?" he asked. "Why here?"
Ella stood, her eyes narrowed. "Because this place is sacred to our origin. The first vampire queens forged their power in places like this. Their echoes linger."
"And they recognize us," Liam said, voice low. "Or… what we're becoming."
Velis stepped forward, scanning the stone walls. "Then the question becomes: do we finish what they started—or back away before it consumes us?"
"No," Ella said, her voice hardening. "We move forward. Whatever this is, it chose us. The contract is no longer a leash—it's a key."
Althaea didn't speak, but her gaze stayed locked on Liam, sharp and calculating.
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The journey back to Crimson Castle was tense. Althaea said nothing for hours, yet Liam could feel her magic brushing the edge of his consciousness, as if measuring something within him. Ella remained silent as well, her thoughts a storm behind her crimson eyes.
That night, the castle guards noticed something strange. The moon turned red—not blood-red like during rituals, but deeper, older. The kind of red that shimmered with history. The same red etched into the Hollow Spire's runes.
In his dreams, Liam saw the altar again. But this time, he was alone. No Ella, no Althaea. Only the voice of the spectral queen, whispering in words not of any known tongue, but somehow understandable. She spoke of choice. Of legacy. Of the burden of unshaped power.
When he awoke, his chest burned. The contract mark shimmered briefly, pulsing with a beat that wasn't entirely his.
Ella was already awake, standing at the window. She turned slowly, her eyes tired yet unflinching. "The contract has chosen again."
"Chosen what?"
She shook her head. "Not what. Who."
And deep within the castle, in the old crypts that hadn't been opened in centuries, something began to stir.
End of Chapter 45